'Tis Done

Dear Dobson,

It's taken me a few weeks to get over the frustrating disappointment of an adjournment, but I can feel a gentle shift in attitude beginning to happen. I never expected to feel optimistic about the impending new year, yet that seems to be where my mood is heading.

The 'C' word has been and gone, and it seems to have been something of a success. Mes enfants were happy and grateful; I don't know that I could have asked for anything more than that. I'm relieved. I've never much enjoyed Christmas, the pressure to have fun and feel close to those I love on one particular day is suffocating. Anyway, it's over and it was okay.

Tomorrow will mark the one year anniversary of my relationship with The Man ending. Yes, there is still unresolved business to deal with but that needs to be parked until May. I have plans to hang with some jazzers all day and all night - it will be joyful, the complete antithesis of what was happening this time last year.

Tomorrow will also mark seven months exactly since my first date with SG Guy. He blew me away with the Christmas present he gave me; beautiful, exquisite, French lingerie. I can't wait to 'try it out' when he returns to London in the new year. Things are good. It's lovely and easy.

I was reflecting on the past year last night - I think it's inevitable when a new one is on its way - and I came across a picture of The Man that had been posted on the internet. I wasn't looking for it, but perhaps I was meant to find it. He appeared more 'ordinary' than I remembered. His hairline seemed to have dramatically receded. He was smiling, but looked dead behind the eyes.

Perhaps I was meant to find it?

Frankie

The Law Is An Ass

Dear Dobson,

After much anticipation and anxiety, my day at court finally arrived. I felt sick, nervous at the prospect of seeing The Man after all this time. Despite my desire to be anywhere but the witness care 'suite' (and I use that word very loosely), there was a sensible voice in my head that kept repeating what had happened was fundamentally wrong and this would be my opportunity to voice that belief.

Three and a half hours later, and after many trips to the lavatory, I was informed the case would be adjourned for another six months. The judges were delayed by the morning's case and they do not, ever, work beyond 4 o'clock.

Upset, disappointed, angry... etc. I know you've heard it all before. So given those feelings, plus the absence of my children and SG Guy who was in Europe, I embarked on a three day binge.

I took my finger off the self-destruct button on Sunday afternoon. It was then reality managed to sneak its way in. I wish I'd managed to shut the door in time, but I failed. It's been a quiet week and numb is where things currently feel most comfortable. I'm hoping it's a temporary state of mind, it's not a pleasant place.

Frankie

Hanging Up The Towels

Dear Dobson,

Given that these are stressful times, it was inevitable that my old friend 'Insomnia' would rock up at some point, hence me hanging up the towels and loitering here at 1 o'clock in the morning.  I am so tired, in fact, I'm exhausted.  I've been fighting the lurgy for over a week now with no sign of it abating.  My body is telling me to slow down but it's difficult; I've children, singing rehearsals, gym and a soirée to organise for Saturday night.  My libido is suffering too and I feel terrible for cancelling my tryst with SG Guy tonight, but what's the point if I'm not up to it?  I'm no faker.

In view of my cancellation I considered a wank but lethargy and apathy won the day.  My glass of 14.5% Merlot remains unfinished, the lid is firmly on my 'Berlin XXX' poppers and the batteries in my bunny are on their last (hind) legs.  It's tragic.

Ten days and counting.  Then who knows where I'll be at - a better place hopefully, with some fresh batteries...

Frankie

Round Midnight

Dear Dobson,

The title of this latest instalment is a song I'm currently learning for gigging purposes.  It was suggested to me by someone else, but man...  It's screamingly appropriate right now.

Sarah tells it like it is and no mistaking.  I'm meandering through my days in fierce denial.  The trial is almost two weeks away and I've a feeling that, no matter what the outcome is, it's going to feel shitty. You know it's not how I wanted things to be with The Man.  Nevertheless, it's the way things have gone so a pragmatic and practical approach is required for the time being - if only to get me through the dreaded day itself.

In other news, alcohol is proving to be something of an emotional buffer for me.  I know it's not a healthy way of coping with the situation, but the way I see it, the 'situation' will be over soon.

It hasn't all been doom and gloom though.  I've a nice little earner coming up in the form of a dinner / dance gig.  Although not the most satisfying in creative terms, these 'dos' always prove to be quite lucrative.

And there's more good stuff...  At the weekend I was a willing participant in some gin research and discovered some real corkers.  I think I can safely say that Brockmans, Monkey 47 and Cadenhead's would all be up your straße.  Especially Cadenhead's; it's Scottish and 50% proof.  What's not to like?

I continue to spend wonderful evenings with SG Guy.  He's uncomplicated, generous and has the most sublime touch.  His apartment has become something of a haven for me, a rooftop escape from all the sewage down below.

Time for me to attempt sleep.  These days it tends to be disturbed by anxiety inducing dreams, but I have a feeling things might be a bit easier in a month or so.  Goodnight Dobson.

Frankie

Resurrection

Dear Dobson,

We need to get back to doing this shit.

In my mind, I don't care whether we're simply writing for you and me.  I don't care how many followers we have, what the figures are, who's interested or not.  This bloggage, as I understand it, is ultimately for us.

I think, whilst desperately trying not to sound like Tammy Wynette, sometimes it's hard to be a woman.  It's fucking hard.

As you know Dobson, I'm up in court this month - a witness for the CPS.  Partly I've been reluctant to write because I don't know who's going to read this.  'The Man' is aware of this blog and he may well come across its content.  I've reached the point where I don't care if he does or not.

Our relationship ended in the messiest of ways.  He hurt me, physically as well as emotionally, and as you know after a period of contemplation I went to the police.  It wasn't an easy decision to make, but ultimately, at the very heart of it, was the belief that what he had done was wrong.  Very wrong.

I have done my best since things ended, to get on with my life.  I've successfully gigged, I've achieved a Certificate in Counselling, I've tentatively embarked on a new relationship and yet life feels 'stuck'.  Until the trial is over I'm unable to move on.  We still have a connection, even if it's in the most negative of ways.  I want to be liberated.  I want it to be over and I acknowledge that, soon, it will be.

I hope that with the end of the trial - no matter what the outcome is - I will be able to disconnect.  In spite of everything, I still feel tied to him, as if this trial binds us in the unhealthiest of ways.

Obviously it's been a long time and there's much more I could divulge but I feel I need to be economical with what I share right now.  The time will come when it feels safe again, but until then this is the best I can offer.

Frankie

Spiralling

Dear Dobson,

I have an essay to produce in sixteen days and as you might predict motivation is low, so I thought it was time to pay a visit to our sacred space. 

I have found myself wondering if this complete lack of focus is what it's like to have ADHD?  If so, it must be exhausting.  My brain only seems to be able to cope with minute pieces of information and I'm finding it frustrating.  In a bid to change this state of affairs and given my surplus of singleton hours, I have taken to watching series after series of anything in a foreign language.  As you know I'm a fan of anything dark and Scandinavian, so both series of 'The Bridge' (Bron || Broen) have been an absolute godsend.  I'm now into the third series of 'Spiral', which is also dark but French.  Watching this kind of thing forces me to engage.

My heart remains broken; my emotions feel as if they've been blasted into a million pieces - someone has kindly scooped them up and plopped them in a bucket for me, but now they have to be sifted through.  That's proving more painful than the initial blasting itself.

I am doing my utmost to be 'normal' and do 'normal' things.  Parenthood offers little space for indulgence which can be both a blessing and a curse, my singing is on the up, college is going well (essay aside), I'm back running regularly and support from friends and family is forthcoming.  However...

Going through the motions has never been my bag and there is a distinct lack of joy in most of what I do right now.  Where is the fucking joy Dobson?

Speaking of fucking, the last time that happened was Christmas night and I miss the physical contact.  Though having said that, the idea of being intimate with anyone ever again terrifies me and it all feels a bit dead from the waist down.

As I said, where is the fucking joy Dobson?

Right, I'm off to watch another couple of episodes of Spiral.  The essay can wait.

Frankie

Dignity or Dignitas?

Dear Dobson,

Life seems to be meandering from one day to the next, so I suppose that's evidence I'm hanging on in there somehow. It's an existence of sorts but I'm aware I'm lurking in the shadows, courting anonymity instead of the spotlight for the first time in my life. I feel jaded, used, discarded.

The Man ignores the odd phone call I chance, my e-mails and occasional texts. All fall on deaf ears. I've a feeling he doesn't even read the words I carefully construct. Each agonising phrase dusted with a whiff of hope - hope that he'll be sufficiently moved to reconnect. I realise it's futile. My services are no longer required.

Sadness is a constant, disappointment a regular visitor and anger an unwelcome one. Then there are the dark thoughts; the powerful fantasies of revenge countered by those of pitiful self-destruction. I am lost. Broken.

As you know Dobson, this isn't just a case of heartbreak. It's more complicated than that. It's old wounds revisited. I didn't want to have to go to 'Rejectionville' again but I'm fresh off the bus, suitcase in hand and the locals seem to know who I am. All because someone said 'trust me', and I took a chance.

January is nearly over ergo I have been single for almost a month. Time flies when you're empty and numb. I miss The Man - I miss 'us' and 'we' and I miss 'my boyfriend'.

Frankie